


Fragile: Handle With Care

by EchoResonance



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-06 21:43:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8770489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoResonance/pseuds/EchoResonance
Summary: Shiro's heard all sorts of stories about soulmates. He's seen the stories in action. He's seen his father knock his hip against the corner of the counter and watched the bruise bloom on his mother's. He watched his friend get a tattoo and seen another friend with the fading remnants of that very same mark. It was a magical moment for some people.Shiro and his soulmate were not those people.An AU in which the marks that one person receives, the other also bears temporarily. And although Shiro has had few accidents and has never been struck a day in his life, it is very rare that his skin isn't a painting of reds, blues, and purples





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sensitive and potentially triggering content. Please don't continue if you feel it might affect your mental/emotional well being

The first time it happened, Shiro was eight.

He’d heard all sorts of stories, of course, about soulmates and their marks. He’d latched onto them with a sense of wonder, enthralled that someone, somewhere, would see anything that stained his skin. His own parents had met because his mother had gotten a tattoo on her shoulder and his father, though the mark had long since faded by the time he saw her, recognized it at a glance. A friend of his had broken her arm on the playground in kindergarten and one of the other girls nearby had started screaming and crying, and no it wasn’t the nicest way to find out, but they thought it was almost funny in the aftermath in the way only children can.

The first time it happened, it was a mosaic of bruises that bloomed along his side. It ached a little, but it was his first sign that he had a  _ soulmate _ , his first sign that his soulmate and he were definitely connected. He was excited. A little irrationally so; he ran to everyone he knew and lifted his shirt to show them, proud that he now had irrefutable proof that somewhere out there, there was a person just for him. He hadn’t noticed the concerned looks he’d gotten from his parents or his auntie. 

The next time it happened was a few days after that. The marks that had shown up on his side had nearly faded away when he felt a sudden, blunt pain across his stomach. He’d been walking upstairs to his room and the force of the phantom injury sent him staggering into the handrail. He’d been the only one home, and he scrambled up the stairs, wincing when he felt another mark blossom across his jaw. He went straight for the bathroom and looked in the mirror, frowning as he examined the dark purple mark on his stomach and the oddly-shaped red one on his cheek. 

He was only eight, but a certain sense of foreboding ran through him.

Two weeks stood between that incident and the next, and suddenly he was scared. He didn’t like this anymore, he didn’t want to feel these awful bruises that were shaped far too similarly to hands around his arms, didn’t want to see the mottled skin across his ribs. He was scared for his skin, scared for his parents because they started to get strange looks from people that saw Shiro’s injuries, scared  _ of  _ his parents because  _ they _ seemed scared. More than that, though, he was scared for his soulmate. His soulmate, who was being hurt by some faceless person that Shiro already hated.

It happened twice more after that; obviously intentional marks that made Shiro crawl into bed with his parents and cry. Then for a while there was nothing.

* * *

The next time it happened, Shiro was twelve.

He’d almost forgotten the horrible feeling of being hurt without  _ being hurt _ . Of course he still worried, on occasion, but most of the time he elected to remain optimistic. There were still good stories, still people who had found their happiness with others because of their connection. Maybe one day, when he met his soulmate, he could fix them. Whatever and whoever had hurt them, Shiro thought that maybe he could wipe that sadness from their memory. Replace it with good things, all the good things that Shiro could possibly shower them with.

The next time it happened, Shiro was ripped screaming from his sleep by a burning agony in his chest. His parents had burst into his room, mother holding a metal bat and father looking ready to kill someone with his bare hands. When they found only Shiro, curled on his bed and clutching at his shirt as he cried, they didn’t know what to do. His mother dropped her weapon and they both went to him. It took a while, but they finally coaxed him to lift his shirt to reveal dark and violent bruising.

Shiro started crying all over again when he saw it. It took his mother over an hour of soft, comforting words to calm him down, to tell him that they probably just had some kind of accident. They were fine.

But he heard her speaking with his father outside his door when they thought he’d fallen asleep. Whispers, hisses that it wasn’t right, that there had to be some way to find Shiro’s soulmate sooner, some way to help them before...before it was too late. Shiro didn’t like the way they said it. He may have been young, but he was hardly naive. At his junior high school, a girl had sometimes shown up with strange bruises. Shiro might not have noticed them because she always wore pants and a jacket, but there were those lingering memories of his soulmate’s wounds, and when he saw the way the girl clutched her jacket more tightly to her even in early summer, he couldn’t help his suspicions. He kept meaning to talk to her, but just...never did. She still came to class every day, still talked to her friends, so he figured he had plenty of time to figure out how. 

Until he didn’t. One day, the girl didn’t come to school. He noticed the teachers talking when they didn’t think the students were paying attention, recognized the look in their homeroom teacher’s eyes as the same look his parents had when his soulmate’s  bruises inked his skin.

She never came back.

He didn’t want that for his soulmate.

So, for the next year and a half, he grit his teeth and bore it. Told himself that the pain he was feeling wasn’t his, that the marks were good because at least it meant his soulmate, whoever they were, was holding on. But they paid for it, both of them, in marks that barely had time to fade before new ones came. Sometimes there were sensations that Shiro couldn’t accurately name or identify, but he could guess, and they would leave him feeling especially sick. He asked the girl from kindergarten how it had felt when her soulmate broke her arm, and his world spun away when she described a pain that shouldn’t have sounded so familiar to him.

His parents were frantic, horrified as much for him as they were for the nameless stranger. They promised Shiro that they would do anything and everything they could to help, but in the end he knew that was pointless. There was nothing they could do. Nothing he could do.

Admitting his own uselessness hurt more than any injury. He didn’t know how often he cried anymore, how many times he would shut himself in his room or hide in a bathroom stall at school. He hated this. Hated feeling so useless, so hopeless, so utterly helpless. This was his  _ soulmate _ , and they were hurting. Hurting so much and hurting so often, and he wanted to help them. He needed to help them! Yet he could do nothing but share their pain.

Halfway through his last year in junior high, his skin became clean again. Far from feeling reassured, he was terrified by the implications. Only his mother shushing him in his room after a week without bruising, telling him that he would  _ feel _ it if...if the worst happened, could console him. After this, Shiro’s skin remained unmarked for six months.

* * *

He was fourteen and a high school freshman when he felt it again. It was Friday night after his first week and he was lying in bed, flipping idly through one his new textbooks. The week had been uneventful--he’d met back up with a couple friends from junior high, been hit on a dozen or so times by girls that  _ swore _ he had to have been a junior, and hadn’t been saddled with an impossible amount of homework. Not particularly astounding in any way, really.

Then he couldn’t breathe. He nearly fell out of bed in shock, in panic, and his hands sent his textbook flying as they flew to his neck, to tear at pressure that wasn’t there. At this point he’d learned how to separate himself from the sensations, to remind his body that it wasn’t under attack, but it was hard in his panic to remind himself that he could still breathe. That his throat wasn’t being constricted. It took several long, agonizing seconds of reminding his body how to breathe before he could even think of anything else.

His eyes were watering, and he still felt the pain but not as acutely as before.  With shaking fingers he reached up to touch the affected area, and his chest ached and he didn’t know if it was his heart breaking for a stranger or that stranger’s lungs screaming in protest. The pressure lifted even as he wondered, but this was accompanied by a sharp, stinging sensation across his cheek. Closing his eyes briefly to collect himself, Shiro had quietly tip-toed to the bathroom, not wanting to alert his parents, and locked himself inside before turning to the mirror.

Finger-shaped bruises. A reddening hand print. The ache in the back of Shiro’s throat had nothing to do with the injury, and he fell hard against the counter, elbows smacking into the granite and face burying itself in his hands. What good was this? What good was  _ he _ , if he couldn’t even help the person his soul was irrevocably bound to as they fought a battle he couldn’t begin to understand? 

He was there for a long time that night, sobbing as quietly as he could in frustration and grief. He hated being helpless. He hated being useless. He hated knowing that someone out there was hurting so badly, and they were going through all of that pain alone. There was nothing he could do and it  _ hurt _ worse than any bruise or any broken bone.

He wore a scarf the next day. It didn’t escape his parents’ notice, but really what difference did it make if they knew?

The bruises started coming again, and Shiro quickly realized that this time there was a sick sort of routine to it. The week would go by quietly. Friday night hurt. The marks faded before Monday. He guessed that his soulmate was going to school. That whoever was hurting them didn’t want proof of their transgressions lasting past the weekend. The bruises were also easy to hide after the initial assault; his stomach and ribs, hips, upper thighs. They were easily hidden under his own PE uniform.

In the winter they branched out again, because cold weather meant more layers. More skin to cover. Shiro was miserable. He’d never hated holiday breaks before, but at least when school was in session his soulmate had a few days of reprieve. During the holidays it was nearly unbearable.

Then, two days before Christmas that year, Shiro again found his skin unblemished. He no longer felt hope stir in his chest, though. He knew with a sad, bitter certainty that the pain would come back, and once again he’d be nothing but a powerless witness.

He didn’t speak at all on Christmas day.

* * *

Shiro got his driver’s license in his sophomore year the day he turned sixteen. He was excited, thrilled even. His parents let him ditch class to take the exam, they drove separate cars to said exam so that he could drive himself home when he inevitably passed, and they told him that however much money he saved for a car of his own, they would match. It was a wonderful day made even better because it was a day free of worry. Free of bruises.

It became routine for Shiro to take one of the cars to school. He drove himself to track practice, to the animal shelter where he volunteered, to his friends’ houses when they went out. It was nice. He liked driving on his own. Liked taking back roads and staying out late with the promise that  _ of course he’d be back by curfew _ .

He’d been out late on one such night, just driving with nowhere urgent to be, when it happened. It wasn’t the first time he’d needed to pull over until it passed. Not by a long shot. But it was the first time it had ever hurt so intensely that he could remember, and he didn’t even realize that he had slammed on the gas instead of the break because  _ God _ , his head  _ hurt _ and his chest  _ hurt _ and something absolutely wrong and sickening shot up his spine, cleaving him half. He screamed. He might have seen the tree before he jerked the steering wheel, but he was never sure. The world blinked out.

When Shiro came to, he was bleary and confused, surrounded by white. His mother was there, though, sitting by his bedside and looking like she hadn’t slept in years. When she realized he was awake, it took all of her self control not to fling herself on top of him. She tearfully explained that he had wrecked the car, that his condition had been touch-and-go for days, that he’d been in tears screaming when they brought him in.

He remembered, in the vague way one remembers a dream, the pain before the crash. Felt himself go cold. Felt like he was going to be ill. He meant to clap his hand to his mouth to stifle his nausea, but…

He was fitted with a temporary prosthetic and told to come back in a few days for a proper examination. He was numb to the entire affair. All he could think about was how losing a limb felt to someone who hadn’t yet lost one. He wondered if the gash across his nose would scar the other person, or if it would fade like bruises did.

The cybernetic arm was a complicated operation. He wondered what it felt like to his soulmate. What was he putting the other through? That person who had already suffered so much was being subjected to it without any pain medication, any buffer between them and the surgery.

It was strange. The arm felt like his by all accounts, and yet not. It responded a little slower than his flesh arm, but that was to be expected since it was brand new. It would take some adjusting to, but modern technology had come a long way in making the loss of a limb easier to compensate for. For goodness’ sake, he could still  _ feel _ things with it, although his sense of touch had been muted somewhat. It felt like wearing gloves, almost.

It felt like experiencing touch through someone else. Not quite real, but far from imaginary.

The bruises didn’t stop blooming.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as this is a fairly new concept for me to write, I'm still playing with format and pacing at moment. Please bear with me, I'll figure it out. Probably.

Transferring to a new high school halfway through junior year wasn’t exactly easy on Keith. Being the new kid was hard enough, but being the new kid smack in the middle of the high school experience, long after everyone has already met each other and formed their own cliques? That was it’s own form of punishment. He was hyper aware of the eyes that followed him and the most likely innocent talk in the hall, and it chafed. The attention rubbed against him until he felt raw and had to duck into the locker rooms when he was supposed to go to lunch.

He found a quiet corner of the room, near the showers, and sat on one of the benches. His bag slipped from his shoulder and landed with a thump on the dirty linoleum floor, but he didn’t bother reaching down to sit it upright just yet. The wall was cool when he leaned back and he tilted his head against it, closing his eyes and forcing himself to breathe. It was his first day. It would be fine, it’d calm down and the other students would forget about him soon enough.

The steady drip, drip, drip of a leaking showerhead gave him something to focus on. He used it to count his breaths and steady himself, and before long he could feel his consciousness slipping away. He shouldn’t fall asleep in the locker room, he knew, but it was tempting.

The goal had been to get some alone time and calm down. He hadn’t expected anybody else to be there, though he supposed that was foolish in a school with a graduating class of roughly seven hundred.

“Oh, hey there.”

Keith bristled like a startled cat, stomach lurching as he scrambled to his feet and looked around wildly. Standing at the other end of the bench was a boy, very clearly taller than him and nearly twice as broad, clad in nothing but a towel hanging from his hips. The boy smiled slightly at him before turning to the wall of lockers and tugging one open. Keith’s gaze fixed on the gleam of metal that started at his shoulder and without meaning to he lifted a hand to rub at his own right bicep, wincing.

“You’re new, right?” he asked as he rummaged through his things.

He looked like he could have been a teacher, honestly. Maybe the scar across his nose aged him a bit, but Keith would have assumed he  _ was _ if it weren’t for the unusual hairstyle; he’d never seen a teacher with an undercut. The way the stranger held himself, too, put him on the younger side; his shoulders still curved in slightly, and rather than push back the dark fringe that stuck damply to his forehead he tossed his head in an attempt to move it out of his eyes.

The boy glanced over at him and Keith realized he was waiting for him to speak.

“Yeah,” he nodded stiffly, eyes flicking to his bag. “First day.”

The corridor between the walls of lockers was narrow. Keith shifted his weight from his right foot to his left and felt his shoulders brush against the wall at his back.

“Ah,” the boy said. He pulled out a disorganized wad of clothes and started to disentangle them on the bench. “It’s pretty rough switching schools in the middle of the year, isn’t it?”

Keith pressed his lips together. Hooked his foot through one of the loops of his bag and kicked it up into the air to grab it. His eyes didn’t leave the boy.

“What year?”

“Uh, junior. I’m a junior,” he said, cursing the hesitancy in his voice.

“Huh. Me too,” the boy said. “Maybe we have class together? You do seem familiar.”

Keith definitely would have noticed someone like Shiro in his class. At least, he thought he would have. But there was a nagging feeling that said he should recognize Shiro from something. Maybe he’d seen him in the hallway?

“I’m Shiro, by the way,” the boy said. “What’s yours?”

Keith kept his gaze quite adamantly on the boy’s face as he dropped his towel and started to get dressed. The boy, Shiro, didn’t look over until he’d pulled on his boxers and a pair of faded black jeans, and once again Keith realized he’d been meant to answer.

“Keith,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Keith,” Shiro said with another easy smile. 

He straightened up, toweling at his hair with one hand while he held the other out towards him. His left. Unease pricked the back of Keith’s neck and he made no move to take Shiro’s proffered hand, instead casting his gaze toward the door. He’d come here to be alone, but maybe that had been a bad idea.

“Are you alright?” Shiro asked, not unkindly.

When Keith looked back at him he had dropped his hand and a slight frown creased his brow. He let his other hand pause in its work and fall to his side as well and Keith followed the movement, feeling his own right arm ache. The sensation was still too fresh, he supposed.

“Fine,” he said.

“Are you sure?” Shiro asked. “You look kinda pale there, buddy.”

“I said I’m fine,” Keith snapped.

When Shiro moved forward, Keith stepped to the side, and then he was scurrying past the boy and out of the room, an echoing  _ Hey, wait! _ trailing after him.

He didn’t focus for the rest of the day and found himself rubbing that spot several different times, trying to coax feeling back into a limb that had never lost it. He still remembered the burning and the breaking that had shot through it a year ago--it wasn’t a sensation one could forget easily--or the strange numbness that had taken its place for nearly a week after. Sometimes he still imagined he could feel the sharp, stabbing pains arcing through his arm as the injured party...well, he didn’t know. Broke it? Aggravated it while it was healing?

He hated this soulmate thing. Hated the idea that his feelings weren’t his own and that someone...someone knew. Someone he had never even met knew what he’d gone through, and he didn’t like it in the least. Keith liked his privacy and he liked feeling in control, and this soulmate thing offered him neither.

Not to mention that for everything he went through, so did they. It wasn’t something he was happy about or proud of, and he’d kept himself awake any number of times wondering if that pain in his arm was the result of...of his own pain from that same night.

His fingers tightened around his bicep and he winced as his nails dug into his skin. With conscious effort he withdrew his touch and tried to re-engage in the lesson. When the bell rang, he had no idea what had been covered.

* * *

That guy, Shiro, found him outside during his free period the next day. He’d been sitting in the shade of one of the few trees on the school grounds, going through the textbook and teaching himself the lesson he hadn’t taken in during class, when a careful voice yanked him from his thoughts. His head jerked up at the voice and found the familiar figure standing a respectful distance away. His shoulders tightened.

“Mind if I join you?” Shiro asked, inclining his head toward the grassy patch on Keith’s right.

Keith looked him over for a moment, eyes narrowed. He stood with his hands clasped in front of him and a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. It was difficult to be sure, but he thought the boy’s eyes looked like a steely gray. His expression was relaxed, even welcoming, but it didn’t do much to put Keith at ease.

Still, there was something in the patient way he stood, not inching any closer or inviting himself when Keith’s silence stretched, that had Keith rearranging his things to make room. He nodded mutely and watched as Shiro’s smile broadened and he moved to Keith’s side--slowly, quietly, like he was approaching a feral cat. He lowered himself easily to the ground at Keith’s side and looked over at the text that Keith had returned his attention to.

“Calculus?” Shiro wondered, pitch climbing. Keith glanced sideways to find his eyebrows raised and lips pursed on a low whistle. 

“What about it?” he said, tone a bit sharp.

Shiro blinked, then leaned back with a shrug.

“Just a hard class,” he said. “I’m in it--if you want, I could help you?”

A snort escaped Keith before he could stifle it. He turned back to the book and shook his head, penciling in some notes in the notebook on his knee. He couldn’t help feeling equal parts amused and annoyed at the notion that he would need help in this of all things. He was good at school--even if his GPA and attention span didn’t always reflect it. His biggest problem as far as grades was the small mountain of missing assignments that always managed to accumulate. Not that there was much he could’ve done about those.

“I’m not worried,” he said. “This school uses the same textbook as my last one. You guys are a couple chapters behind, actually.”

“Oh.”

They sat like that for maybe ten minutes, Keith pouring over his book and Shiro watching curiously over his shoulder. The boy’s presence should’ve been looming with his size, but he managed to maintain a certain distance that left Keith feeling strangely comfortable. Like he belonged there. The space separating their hips was welcome, but it didn’t feel like an act of avoidance.

Keith couldn’t explain why the ease of the moment set him on edge.

“About yesterday,” Shiro said suddenly. Keith jumped, pencil leaving a dark mark where his hand jerked. “Oh, sorry.”

“S’fine,” Keith mumbled, neck burning. “What about yesterday?”

“I, uh, I feel like I spooked you a little,” Shiro said, releasing a nervous chuckle. Keith stilled. “I didn’t mean to scare you off, or anything.”

“You didn’t,” Keith said. “I just--had class.”

“Oh,” Shiro said quietly. “Oh, okay. Well, I’m glad.”

_ Why? _

“How much time is left for this period?” Keith asked.

“Hm? Uh, maybe seven, ten minutes?” Shiro guessed. “You probably want to start packing your stuff up.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want some help?”

Keith stiffened but bit his cheek against the first retort that sprang to his lips. However irritated he might be at the idea that he couldn’t take care of himself, he didn’t think Shiro meant anything by the statement. 

Why offer at all? Now, that Keith didn’t know. But he wasn’t about to assume it came without ulterior motives.

“No thanks,” he bit out.

Shiro hesitated and Keith could feel his gaze on him, burning the side of his head, but he kept his attention focused on shoving his things into his backpack. He heard the boy shift and climb to his feet. Assuming he’d take off now that the conversation seemed over, Keith wasn’t sure what to think when the boy instead moved around to stand in front of him. He leaned back instinctively.

“Do you wanna have lunch?” Shiro asked. 

Keith blinked.

“Um…”

“I mean, don’t feel obligated to say yes,” Shiro said hurriedly. “But, uh, I get that it’s hard to meet new people sometimes, so I thought maybe--but you don’t have to.”

Keith looked up at him, finding it difficult to discern his expression because of the sunlight silhouetting his frame. The boy was holding his left hand out to Keith again, and he could make out the faint quirk of his lips that could have been a hopeful smile. Keith shouldered his bag and, still eyeing that hand, rose to his feet. It might have been his imagination, but he thought Shiro’s shoulders sagged a little.

“Sure,” he said, eyes falling to a spot over the boy’s shoulder. “Why not?”

That was all it took to put a bright smile back on Shiro’s face. He didn’t try to take Keith’s hand again, but he started for the cafeteria building right beside him with a cheerful smile on his face. The expression pulled at the scar over his nose.

Keith’s fingers curled around his bicep.


	3. Chapter 3

It was slow going, but Shiro was proud to say that, by the end of the school year, Keith was undeniably part of his circle of friends. He and Hunk hit it off with surprising ease, but Shiro figured later that it made sense. Nobody could dislike Hunk. Even the cranky Mr. Iverson that taught sophomore English was a little easier on Hunk than he was the other students. He just had a kind of natural charm to him and his warm personality got through to Keith in a manner of days.

Lance was...a more difficult case. He was overwhelming to the most extroverted of people, and to someone as skittish as Keith had shown himself to be, Shiro had worried that Lance would give the boy a heart attack. After the two met, he was no longer worried about Keith. No, after they met and Shiro saw Keith snarling right back at Lance, he was abruptly concerned that Lance would get himself killed. No one was really sure how or why Lance instigated a rivalry with the new kid after that, but they ended up competing over even the smallest things. The positive take on that was that it was another side to Keith they hadn’t previously seen, a fiery and brash nature that was rather endearing at times.

Matt and Keith were a bit touch and go for a while as well, not because they clashed the way he and Lance did but simply because they couldn’t find a middle ground to meet on. That changed when Matt’s little sister, a freshman, interrupted them during lunch one day demanding that Matt tell their parents he had already met his soulmate so that they would stop pestering her about not knowing hers. She and Keith, after a few snarky remarks and shared eyerolls, got on like a house on fire, and that was all Matt needed to decide that he definitely liked the newbie.

As they all slowly acclimated to each other, Shiro noticed a curious habit of Keith’s. At seemingly random times, Keith would start massaging his right arm, a small grimace twisting his lips. It could have been an old injury, though it was an odd place for persisting pain, but Keith never treated it like one should an old wound. He used that arm to the fullest extent, never wrapped it or iced it, and Shiro never saw a sling. The curiosity was killing him, but he wasn’t sure how to ask in a tactful way.

He was very rarely thankful that he had a friend with a notorious lack of tact, but a tiny part of him was relieved that the pressure was off of him when Lance pointed out the quirk one day at lunch.

“Why’re you always rubbing your arm?” Lance demanded.

Keith followed Lance’s accusing finger and hastily whipped his hand away from his shoulder, color flashing across his cheeks. However, the damage was done.

“Hey, c’mon man, spill,” Lance said. “Your soulmate get regular shots or something?”

Shiro frowned. He hadn’t even considered that it might have been something residual from Keith’s soulmate. Indeed, he hadn’t really even thought about Keith having a soulmate. The idea seemed strange for some reason, almost unwelcome. Ridiculous, of course.

“I wouldn’t know,” Keith said, tone a little sharp.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Lance said. He reached across the table to poke at Keith’s hand with his plastic spork. “You can talk about them with us.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Keith said, jerking his hand back.

“I’ll tell you ‘bout mine,” Lance wheedled. 

An unconvincing argument. Hunk coughed next to him. Keith remained pointedly silent and his fingers twitched in his lap. Shiro suspected it took conscious effort to keep them there, and he found himself wishing that Lance had just a little more control over what fell out of his mouth.

“Dude, come  _ on _ , it’s not a big deal,” Lance prodded, voice escalating. “Is it a soulmate thing or what? Do you just have some weird rash? Come on, what’s your deal? You’re literally always rubbing your arm.”

“Lance,” Shiro warned. 

His automatic response was to move between the two of them, hide Keith from view as he visibly withdrew into himself, but this was a little difficult to manage when they were all sitting at a cafeteria table. He would’ve settled for giving Keith a reassuring pat on the knee or an arm around his shoulders, but he didn’t dare. Whether it was because he still considered Shiro somewhat of a stranger or because he was unnerved by the prosthetic, Keith did not invite contact with him. That was a boundary Shiro knew to respect.

“I really don’t know, alright?” Keith snapped. “All I know is they seriously hurt their arm and sometimes it still hurts. Satisfied?”

The lack of an immediate answer from Lance got an irritated sigh out of Keith, who proceeded to excuse himself from the table with his mostly uneaten tray of food. Shiro was torn between the urge to scold Lance and the desire to follow Keith and make sure he was alright. He settled for fixing Lance with his most disappointed glare and a promise to talk to him later, then opted to go after Keith.

“Uh-oh, you pissed off Dad,” Matt snorted behind him.

“Fuck off,” Shiro heard Lance grumble, then he was out of earshot.

Dealing with Lance wouldn’t be that big of a problem. His friend hadn’t meant any harm, and he knew that by the time he saw Lance again the guy wouldn’t be able to focus on anything except his own guilty conscience. He’d apologize to Keith, who may or may not accept gracefully, and then they’d move on. Easy.

Less easy was guessing what state Keith might be in when Shiro found him. He made an educated guess that Keith would be avoiding any and all people and, remembering how he’d met the boy, Shiro went directly to the locker room on the first floor. Most people didn’t spend anymore time there than they absolutely had to and with the ever-present smell of teenage boy and too much cheap cologne, it was not a place one would generally choose to spend their lunch break.

“Keith?” he called as he pushed the door open.

“I’m fine, Shiro,” was his answer.

With a shake of his head Shiro made his way towards that voice and found Keith in the same corner, leaning back against the wall once again. He didn’t look over when Shiro sat near him on the bench, but he didn’t tell him to go away either. His fingers were kneading at his arm again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Shiro offered.

Keith shrugged.

“Like I said, there’s not much to talk about,” he said.

“Right,” Shiro nodded. “You said that to Lance.”

Keith cracked open one eye to scrutinize Shiro. Whatever he saw earned a quiet snort and he settled back against the wall again.

“So, you haven’t met them, yet?” Shiro said.

“No,” Keith replied through grit teeth. “And I hope I never do.”

“What?” Shiro exclaimed. His shout bounced off the dirty walls and Keith flinched. “Why not?”

Keith shifted and ducked his head. His bangs fell to cover his eyes and Shiro felt a pang in his chest at how small the other boy suddenly looked.

“You ever stopped and actually thought about it?” he asked quietly. “This whole soulmate bullshit?”

“I don’t think it’s bullshit,” Shiro said, frowning. “Keith, what--”

“Someone out there gets hurt every time you do. Someone you don’t even know.” God, Keith seemed to be shrinking farther and farther away from him. How did he manage to do that? “That sucks, Shiro. That really, seriously sucks.”

There weren’t words for how much Shiro understood that sentiment. He was able to tuck it in a back corner of his mind most days only because he hadn’t been hurt often, but other times he’d stare at his ceiling and wonder what that wreck had done to his soulmate, already in pain from something he hadn’t dared name. Looking at Keith, Shiro felt something like a stone drop in the pit of his stomach. What had happened in his life to make him so adverse to the idea of meeting his own?

“Keith,” Shiro said. 

The boy twitched, then hesitantly looked up. His eyes were dry. Without a word Shiro held out his right hand palm up and watched the minute tightening of Keith’s lips. It was a compromise for both of them. Shiro didn’t like that arm, didn’t touch people with it if there was any way to avoid it, and Keith didn’t like touch. Holding out the prosthetic was a gesture of understanding, letting Keith know that Shiro did understand the guilt of putting his soulmate through something they didn’t deserve.

There was a long moment where Shiro thought Keith wouldn’t take it. Then a hard look replaced the trepidation in his friend’s face and he reached out with his left hand, pausing just before his fingers touched Shiro’s palm, and then covering that last bit of distance.

Keith’s hand was small in Shiro’s and uncannily warm. When Shiro didn’t move Keith grew bolder, turning the cybernetic so that he could press their palms together and gauge how much longer Shiro’s fingers were, and it was such a small, young action that Shiro couldn’t help but chuckle. Ignoring the confused frown he earned, Shiro flexed his fingers; he could curl them over Keith’s fingertips. A reluctant smile tugged at the boy’s lips before he pulled back.

“We should head back,” Keith said. “They’re probably missing you.”

“And you,” Shiro added as he climbed to his feet. “Lance is probably dying to apologize by now.”

“Oh please,” Keith scoffed. “Apologizing  _ would _ kill him.”

Shiro shook his head indulgently. Keith stood a moment later, pushing his hair out of his face with the hand that had just been in Shiro’s, then shoved it and the other into his pockets.

“Ready?” he said expectantly.

Shiro nodded and led the way out, a new spring in his step. This was progress. This was huge, massive progress. He wondered if his elation showed.


	4. Chapter 4

The last two years of high school were some of the best of Shiro’s life for a few reasons. The first was simply that he had great friends who suffered through finals right alongside him and then helped him play the stress away afterwards. The second was that he graduated--yes, simple man of simple needs--and would be off to university in the fall. The third reason was that in all that time, the only marks that stained his skin were his own and sparse, mild ones that told him his soulmate seemed inordinately clumsy. No more pains that woke him or stumbled him on his way to bed. The final reason was that the boy that had popped out of nowhere during his junior year became an unquestioned part of his life. 

Keith Kogane wasn’t the cheeriest person ever by a long range, but he was someone that Shiro couldn’t help but enjoy spending time with. His sharp tongue was a never-ending source of amusement, especially when the barbed comments were directed at his friend Lance, and outside of those times he was quiet and reserved. It took Shiro a while to work past his cold exterior, but he figured it was well worth it for the smiles only he got.

Something Shiro realized fairly quickly was that Keith was not a tactile person. He didn’t like touching or being touched anymore than was strictly necessary and would never be the one to instigate contact with another person. It was a little frustrating for Shiro, who was a very physical person and didn’t really know what to do with himself when he couldn’t set a hand on a friend’s shoulders or hug them on a bad day, but there wasn’t much he could do. He wouldn’t push past the boundaries Keith so clearly marked, not when it had taken so much time and effort to get Keith to open up this much in the first place.

There was a lot that Shiro still didn’t know about Keith, and he’d be lying to say that it didn’t bother him. It was strange, he knew, that he considered this boy to be one of his closest friends and yet he had never even been to his home, never met his parents. Hell, he didn’t even know where Keith had moved from. But he did know that Keith’s favorite color was red. That he played guitar and had a wonderful singing voice when he thought that nobody was listening. He did know that Keith’s eyes lit up when he laughed and that he had dimples that dug deep into his cheeks. He did know that.

After the graduation ceremony was over, Shiro was overtaken by his friends and family. There were hugs and tears and a fair amount of threats to keep in touch, and Matt stole his cap and shoved it down his pants as if that would keep Shiro from reclaiming it. He was still trying to fix his newly acquired wedgie when Shiro, wearing a shit-eating grin, managed to slip away. He stopped briefly to talk to Lance and Hunk, laugh when Lance’s little sister jumped on his back and Hunk’s younger brother latched onto his leg, and promise their parents that yes, of course he’d still visit. Once he freed himself from the tangle of young limbs Shiro escaped toward the bleachers, scanning the crowd closely.

Keith was leaning against the railing that separated the bleachers from the track, his gown already discarded and an amused smirk curling his lips as he watched the chaos on the field. Shiro took a moment just to admire him. He’d grown a few inches since they met and had filled out--where he used to be on the scrawny side, he’d packed on lean muscle. His tattered black jeans and old band t-shirt weren’t exactly the formal attire the principal had mandated be worn, but there wasn’t much to be done about it at that point. He’d clearly made no attempt to tame his mane of ebony hair, either, except to tie it back in a short ponytail at the base of his skull. Short bits fluttered around his slim face, tangling in his long lashes. His gloved hands were idly twisting the folder with his diploma between them.

As Shiro watched, Keith moved his diploma into his right hand and raised his left to rub at his shoulder. Shiro hadn’t asked after the first time. He didn’t talk about his own soulmate experiences, either.

“Take a picture,” Keith said, smile growing. “It’ll last longer.”

Shiro ducked his head, cover blown, and ran a hand through his hair as his friend’s eyes flicked in his direction, impossibly deep blue.

“Will you actually let me?” Shiro wondered, propping himself against the railing beside Keith. “Take a picture, I mean?”

Keith raised an eyebrow at him.

“What for?” he wondered.

Shiro shrugged, trying to ignore the warmth in his cheeks and the twisting in his stomach.

“Just, y’know, so I have it,” he said, hoping he sounded nonchalant. “I’ve got pictures of all my other friends.”

A dubious look crossed Keith’s features, wrinkling his brow and scrunching his nose. If Shiro mentioned how cute it looked, Keith would probably have hit him.

“Worried you’ll forget what I look like?” Keith finally said.

Shiro grinned.

“You caught me,” he confessed.

“We’ll see each other again in a couple weeks,” Keith pointed out, but his brow had smoothed out and his lips were twitching. “Move-in is on the fifteenth.”

“Come on, Keith,” Shiro whined. “Some roommate I’d be if I didn’t have a single picture of you to stick to my memory board!”

“Oh my god, you actually have one of those?”

“It was a joke, Keith, now let me take a picture.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me.”

Keith groaned and raked a hand through his hair, tugging more loose from his hasty ponytail. The pieces fluttered around his ears and cheeks when he dropped his hand.

“I guess so.”

Shiro blinked.

“Huh?”

“I guess you can take a picture,” Keith said slowly, tone light.

“Really? Sweet!” Shiro said, digging for his cellphone.

“You’re way too excited about this,” Keith snorted with a shake of his head. 

The smile that curved his lips was fond, though, and Shiro felt something inside him squeeze at the sight. Keith’s entire demeanor softened when he smiled like that, his shoulders relaxing and his eyes gleaming almost violet. It was a sight few got to enjoy. Shiro was proud and a little possessive of that fact.

“Do I need to pose?” Keith teased when Shiro made no move to open the camera on his phone.

Shiro jumped and hastily unlocked the device, making a face at Keith when the other boy chuckled some more.

“No, just like that is fine,” he said. “Maybe try to smile?”

“Wha--I am smiling!” Keith protested. Shiro grinned.

“I know,” he said, and snapped the picture.

“Well?” Keith prompted. “Did I break your camera?”

Keith’s lips were slightly parted on the tail end of his exclamation, the corners still tilted upwards. His dimples dug into his cheeks and the afternoon sunlight caught on the high points of his face, softening the sharp planes and angles and making his skin glow. His eyes crinkled in the corners, and in the photo they really did look almost violet.

“Yep, phone’s busted,” Shiro said. “You were too pretty, it couldn’t take it.”

“Oh, shut up!” Keith laughed, but a subtle flush crept across his cheeks.

“Hey, do you two want a pic together?”

Shiro looked around. Matt was waving him down, arm in arm with his little sister. Not far behind him were both of their families, smiling and talking merrily. He grinned, but next to him Keith shifted awkwardly.

“Oh, uh, that’s…” Shiro started, but Matt was already snatching the phone from his grip. “H-hey!”

“Oh don’t be a baby,” Matt scoffed. Katie raised an eyebrow at him.

“You threatened to throw me in the canal when I took your phone,” she noted.

A dark pink graced Matt’s cheeks.

“That--that’s different and you know it!” he snapped.

“Why?” she mocked, poking him in the side and then skipping out of arm’s reach. “Because it was your sooouuuuulmate?” 

“Katie!” Matt squeaked.

“Come on, Matt,” Shiro sighed, holding out his hand. “Give me back my phone.”

“No way! Not until we get at least one decent picture of you two!”  he argued. “Mom’s been on my case about not having any pics of Keith for her stinking scrapbook!”

“It’s fine, Shiro.”

Keith’s voice was quiet but firm and he offered a small smirk when Shiro glanced back at him.

“We all know Matt’s not gonna give up until he gets the picture,” Keith pointed out. “And no one needs you tackling him and breaking something right after graduation.”

Shiro hesitated. Obviously he didn’t mind taking a picture with Keith--far from it. But taking pictures with people generally involved more contact than Keith was willing to offer. Still, he didn’t look particularly perturbed as he gestured Shiro over with a lazy wave. Shiro tried not to think about how eagerly he took up a spot at Keith’s side.

“Oh come on, act like you like each other!” Matt complained. “I could fit a planet between you two!”

“Matt, that’s--”

The reprimand died on Shiro’s lips as, with an audible sigh, Keith covered the distance for him. He was uncannily warm, pressed against Shiro’s side like that, and despite how much he’d grown he was still shorter than Shiro by several inches; with the way he slouched, his shoulders were at the perfect height to tuck under Shiro’s arm. So that was what he did, but not without a cautious glance to make sure it was alright. Keith just rolled his eyes and nudged his ribs with an elbow.

“That’s more like it,” Matt said approvingly. 

He held up the camera for a solid ten seconds, nodded to himself, then tossed it without warning back at Shiro. He barely retrieved his arm from Keith’s shoulders in time to catch it out of the air, scowling incredulously at his old friend.

“Make sure you send it to me,” Matt said without remorse.

“Yeah, yeah,” Shiro said, not bothering to check the photo before stowing his phone. If Matt’s mom really wanted a picture of him and Keith, the boy would not have dared take a poor quality one. Mrs. Holt was a sweet woman, but a force to be reckoned with.

“Well, we’d best be off,” Matt said with a mock salute. “Got a graduation party to get to, don’t I?”

“I can’t wait til I’m done with high school,” Katie groaned.

“Excited for your own party?” Shiro chuckled.

She made an impressively disgusted expression at him.

“No, I’m just sick of the common core,” she growled. “I wanna learn the stuff that  _ I _ wanna learn.”

“There, there,” Matt said, patting her head sagely. “You’ll get there one day, Pidgey. Y’know, probably.”

“Didn’t you say you needed to be off?” Shiro prompted, lips twitching.

“So eager to get rid of me!” Matt exclaimed. He clutched at the front of his gown in mock outrage. “I am wounded, offended! I can _not_ _believe_ this--!”

“We get it,” Keith groaned. “Get out of here before your sister throws  _ you _ in the canal.”

Matt cast him a devilish grin, offered them both another lazy salute, then scurried off, Katie in tow. Shiro shook his head after them both.

“Absolutely ridiculous,” he sighed.

“You love them,” Keith chuckled.

“Doesn’t mean they’re not ridiculous,” Shiro refuted, but he lapsed back into a smile.

Keith might’ve responded, but at that moment his gaze flickered to something behind Shiro and his easy smile faltered slightly. His left hand twitched toward his right wrist, and Shiro felt an entirely absurd urge to take it. Had it been anybody else, he probably would have.

“Keith? It’s time to go,” came a voice from the other side of the railing. 

Shiro turned sharply, startled, and found himself looking at an apparition. A young woman stood there, bright, aquamarine eyes that looked like they could see through bone trained on Keith. She was tall, with dark skin and a mane of silvery-white hair pulled back into a high ponytail, and the loose sheath dress she wore did nothing to hide her lean frame. There was a kind smile on her lips and a crinkle at the corners of her eyes.

“Right,” Keith said, and Shiro almost jumped again at the fondness of his tone. “I’ll be there in a sec, Allura.”

The woman’s smile grew and she nodded, gaze shifting to Shiro.

“Congratulations, Shiro,” the woman said.

“You know my name?” Shiro blurted. Keith snorted quietly at his side and he shoved an elbow into the boy’s middle as discreetly as he could.

“Well, it  _ was _ just announced when you walked,” Allura said, pointing a long and slender finger toward the stage. Heat seared Shiro’s cheeks. “But I’ll confess I already knew. Keith talks about you a lot.”

“Allura!” Keith hissed. 

The woman snickered, and the sound was far too reminiscent of Matt’s conniving sister to belong to this striking being. A sliver of harmless unease crept down Shiro’s spine and he found himself leaning slightly away from her, suddenly wary. Laughs like that only came from evil siblings--he should know, he had a couple.

“Really?” Shiro said. “I swear none of it’s true.”

“Why does everyone assume I only say bad things?” Keith demanded, but his cheeks were pink.

Allura fixed Shiro with a thoughtful gaze.

“So you  _ didn’t _ coerce him into studying for calculus with you?” she asked. “Or eat lunch with him every day and make him actually take part in human interaction?”

Shiro hesitated.

“Well, I guess  _ that’s _ true,” he hedged. He glanced at Keith to find his friend had buried his face in his hands.

“But you’re not the one that’s been picking him up for school most mornings this year, I take it?”

“I...that’s me, yeah.”

“So, it seems my little brother isn’t a  _ complete  _ liar, then,” she deduced. 

She flashed him a blindingly white smile that made Shiro miss the sunglasses he’d lost in the chaos on the field. Allura was absolutely too gorgeous to be real, and he didn’t trust it. Pretty people were damn scary.

He glanced at Keith. Well, still not entirely untrue.

“I hate you sometimes,” Keith grumbled.

Then Allura’s words caught up with Shiro’s brain and his mouth fell open. His head whipped between the two of them, openly gaping and not ashamed in the least because there was  _ no way _ . Absolutely none. Keith could spend hours out in the sun and never,  _ ever _ would his skin tone match hers, not to mention their stature and their features, while both sharp enough to cut glass, hardly matched each other’s. The blue of Allura’s eyes was nothing like Keith’s either.

At his very blatant floundering Allura frowned and reached across the railing to flick Shiro on the forehead. He blinked up at her.

“What did you think I was?” she wondered. “His girlfriend?”

“I--I didn’t think--no, that--” Shiro sputtered, red in the face. 

He hadn’t thought  _ anything _ ! Allura laughed at his chagrin.

“Don’t worry,” she reassured him. “I wouldn’t expect him to talk about me much.”

“I’ve talked about you,” Keith denied at once, peeking between his fingers at them.

“You never called her your  _ sister _ !” Shiro said, running a hand over his face. He turned back to her. “Sorry, I just--never would’ve guessed that you two were--”

“No one ever does,” she said understandingly. 

Then she smiled once more and reached past Shiro to grab Keith’s arm. Shiro winced. The strength in her grip was undeniable and he could see it in the way Keith tried and failed to pull free, an almost comical pout on his lips. Shiro could almost imagine he felt it himself.

“Now come on, baby brother, time to go,” she cooed. “Coran’s waiting at the car already. He wanted to get out of here ahead of the crowds.”

“Smart,” Keith mumbled. 

He sighed and gingerly reached up to peel Allura’s fingers away from his bicep before turning to Shiro.

“Still meeting up to deal with moving shit next week?” Keith checked.

Shiro nodded, and Keith grinned.

“See you then,” the boy said, and clapped Shiro’s shoulder as he moved past. “Send me that picture too, alright?”

“Uh, sure thing,” Shiro said a beat too late to be considered socially acceptable. 

By the time he turned, Keith was at the steps into the bleachers and Allura had pulled him into a hug that looked like it was meant to break bones. The way the boy smiled at her when he was back on his own two feet made something in Shiro’s chest tighten. Absently he rubbed at his left arm, frowning at a sudden soreness. Maybe he’d thrown his cap too hard earlier.


	5. Chapter 5

For the first month, it was pretty easy. Neither Keith nor Shiro had been given any massive workloads by their professors and they spent most evenings doing their homework in the living room of their two-bedroom apartment. Keith usually cooked because Shiro, he had discovered, had the ability to burn water and had subsequently been banned from using anything in the small kitchen aside from the microwave and toaster. While Keith was hardly a gourmet chef, he had enough experience keeping himself fed that he could put together basic meals. It helped that Hunk had all but held him down and taught him the finer points of cooking upon finding out that he’d be rooming with Shiro.

There were problems, of course. Nothing really with Shiro, though it was still a bit soon to say he was a perfect roommate. Keith’s issues were personal. Waking up in the middle of the night and not being sure where he was, blankets tangled around his legs and shirt stuck to his back by a cold sweat. Feeling the quiet of the apartment press in on him when Shiro was at class or work, waiting for the snap he knew, logically, wasn’t coming. Jumping every time a neighbor dropped something heavy next door. 

Shiro made it easier. Keith didn’t really know if he was always like that, or if it was specifically with him, but Shiro treated the world like it was made of glass. Under the carefree, go-with-the-flow attitude was a much quieter, calmer person and as strange as it was for Keith to discern between the two he found both just as soothing. It was like Shiro was afraid the door would break if he closed it too hard, afraid he’d give someone a headache if he raised his voice beyond a certain level. His touch was careful and still rare, usually limited to a hand on Keith’s shoulder or against his back. Keith had seen how Shiro interacted with most people and he knew that the man was not particularly conservative when it came to physical contact, so this, at least, he knew was a behavior that Shiro had specifically designated for him. And he appreciated that.

Part of him felt that he was being careless, letting Shiro so close. Some poisonous, hateful voice in the back of his mind whispered that it couldn’t last, that Shiro wouldn’t stick around forever, that eventually this little piece of happiness Keith had carved out for himself with bleeding fingers would break apart. But he wouldn’t listen. True, he was closer to Shiro than even Allura or his adoptive father Coran, but it...it didn’t scare him. It felt good, like a weight had been lifted from his chest, every time Shiro sat next to him and every time he wandered into the kitchen for a meal. It felt good seeing him bleary-eyed and barely coherent in the mornings, feeling his hand--sometimes flesh, sometimes metal--brush against his shoulder.

“Keith, are you paying attention?”

Keith startled and glanced up from the book he was supposed to be reading. They were sitting next to each other on the lumpy couch in the living room, Shiro studying for biochemistry and Keith--supposedly--doing the week’s reading for his intro to the fiction genre class. He’d been staring at the same page for the last ten minutes and had no idea what it said.

“Huh?” he said, meeting Shiro’s frown and hastily looking back at the book.

“That’d be a no,” Shiro sighed.

Keith pressed his lips together, then looked back up.

“Sorry, Shiro,” he mumbled. “What’d you say?”

A patient smile curved Shiro’s lips.

“I was just wondering if Allura was planning on visiting you anytime soon,” he said. “I know she promised to when she was helping us move boxes.”

Keith shrugged, lowering his gaze back to his book and fighting the warmth rising in his neck.

“I don’t know,” he said. “She hasn’t said anything about coming up. Although I wouldn’t put it past her to just appear at the door one of these days.”

“Yeah, that does seem like something she’d do,” Shiro chuckled. “What about your parents? Suffering from empty-nest syndrome yet?”

Keith snorted derisively and forewent any answer.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask, actually,” Shiro said, apparently unperturbed. “How are you and Allura related? Are you like half-siblings?”

The temperature in the room dropped by several degrees. Only the tearing of the page Keith was turning informed him that he’d gone tense and he winced at the damage. The book was a rental--he’d get dinged for that.

He looked up cautiously. Shiro’s smile had faded and a slight frown creased his brow. A weight dropped in Keith’s stomach.

“S-sorry, sorry,” he blurted, subconsciously pressing back against the arm of the couch. “I just--”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Shiro interrupted quietly. “It’s just that you two don’t really look alike at all, I was curious. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Vehemently Keith shook his head. 

“You weren’t,” he said as he allowed himself to relax back into the couch. “It’s fine, really, I just...well.”

“You don’t talk about yourself much,” Shiro finished. “It’s alright. Just thought I’d ask.”

“No one does.”

The words were out before Keith could stop them, and then all he wanted to do was bury his face in Hemingway's shitty minimalist short stories and fade from existence. As it was, Shiro was looking at him with that expression again, that weirdly soft one that looked like he was about to cry, and Keith was frozen in his spot.

“What do you mean?” Shiro asked. Keith shrugged, cheeks too warm.

“I mean no one asks,” he said with as much attitude as he could muster. “You just--surprised me, is all. Most people just assume, y’know? Or they’re too uncomfortable with the idea.”

Shiro’s expression lost some of its concern and the knot in Keith’s stomach loosened considerably.

“Oh,” he said. “So? How are you related?”

Keith went back to his book.

“We’re not,” he said. “Not by blood, anyway. We’re adopted.”

“I’m--”

“Don’t,” Keith interrupted sharply. “Coran’s a good man. I’m not sorry he took me and Allura in. So don’t say it.”

“Right.” Shiro was smiling again. Keith knew without having to look, so he didn’t.

He didn’t ask any more questions. Not about Allura’s family or Keith’s, not about the foster system or how long it had been since Coran had taken them in. He didn’t ask which of them had been adopted first, if they had known each other beforehand, why Coran had chosen them. And at first it stung a little, because Keith had learned early not to offer more than what he was asked for, but he understood that Shiro wasn’t the type to ask for more than he was offered. It was a delicate stalemate.

Keith hoped it could stay. He didn’t have it in himself to step over that line, to come forth on his own and show Shiro just how broken he was. And he hoped Shiro wouldn’t try. He didn’t want the other man to see the gross and brittle patch-up he had done on his own heart. If Shiro saw the cracks too numerous to count, the chunks where pieces had broken off and gone missing forevermore, he wouldn’t stay and Keith wouldn’t blame him. Broken things had no place in a life as blessed as Shiro’s, and Keith was well aware that he was far from whole. He would not be the pitiful thing left on the side of the street, nor would he be Shiro’s charity case. He would simply be, as long as Shiro left the status quo untouched.

* * *

Matt’s photo was the background on Shiro’s phone. Shiro found himself looking at it a lot, a stupid smile on his face every time. Keith wasn’t a small guy, but tucked under Shiro’s arm and smiling a little dryly at the camera he looked dwarfed; the top of his head just reaching Shiro’s ear and his frame still roughly half as wide. Shiro couldn’t help but feel like Keith belonged there, that he looked absolutely perfect leaning into Shiro’s side with that amused glint in his eyes and his bare arms crossed over that faded ACDC logo.

Shiro had to admit it at that point. The tightening in his chest and the warmth in his veins whenever Keith smiled was not friendly. His heart did not jump at tiny contact with Lance or Hunk or any of his other friends, yet simple touches from Keith made him feel like he’d run a half-marathon. Every time he learned another little thing about Keith he felt like he could walk on air. 

He was absolutely screwed.

It wasn’t unheard of for people to fall for someone besides their soulmate, just rare. When another person was meant specifically for you, it just seemed strange and unfair to settle down with someone else. Unfair to you, because technically it could be better; unfair to your soulmate, who you chose to give up; unfair to the other person’s soulmate for the same reason. There were of course cases in which someone had multiple soulmates, but Shiro doubted he was one of those. He just...he just had it really bad for his roommate. His best friend.

Guilt gnawed at him as he lay in bed each night. His soulmate had suffered through so much, and he had gone and fallen for his own best friend instead of seeking them out. In developing feelings for Keith, he felt like he’d abandoned them. Yet they were by all accounts still a stranger. And Keith… 

He felt even worse about Keith. Having feelings for his friend, his friend who had his own soulmate somewhere out there who was probably far more deserving, was just...selfish. But Keith was just such an enigma, he couldn’t help but be drawn in, and the more Shiro learned the more he wanted to know. He was proud of the things that Keith had shown him, the little secret places in his mind that nobody else got to see, and he cherished those quiet things immensely. They were so rare and Shiro felt nothing short of blessed every time Keith let him in a little more. He wished he could push further, find his way around the barriers Keith had constructed around himself, but he made due with the wonders he’d been given. They were still good.

There were secrets Keith wouldn’t share. There was a darkness in his eyes that Shiro couldn’t get close enough to hold a candle against. He knew that Keith had locked up some kind of hell within himself, knew every time he forced himself to stay put when he heard Keith wake up with a shout. If he asked, Keith would brush it off. But he wanted to know. Wanted to  _ help _ .

He flopped onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow with a pathetic groan. 

_ Why can’t life just be simple? _

There were moments when Shiro thought he might have a chance to look closer. During midterms, they had both been so fried that usually at least one of them couldn’t even make it to their bed before they passed out. Usually that was Keith. He would either doze off on the couch with the book he was supposed to have read and didn’t, or he would slump on his desk in his bedroom with his essay still up on the laptop. Sometimes Shiro would nudge him awake, and after the first panicked “Sorry, sorry, I’ll just--bed--yeah--” Keith would shuffle off to his room, hair sticking up at odd angles. He stopped freaking out every time Shiro reminded him that he had an actual bed; in fact, there were times when he would just bury his face deeper in his arms or the cushions of the couch.

If Shiro thought this was progress, well, it  _ was _ . Keith didn’t just fall asleep in the open, he was too skittish for that, and yet there he was doing exactly that, whining like a kid when Shiro tried to rouse him. It was endearing in a way it probably shouldn’t have been.

The final nail in that coffin, the thing that irrevocably claimed Shiro’s heart as well as his sanity, was when they’d been studying on the couch. Shiro had a hundred-point exam in Environmental Studies the next day and Keith had a ten-page paper that was due by the end of the week for that book he still hadn’t finished. After hours of drilling his study guide into his head and wondering if any of it would actually stick, Shiro had leaned back against the couch with a sigh, tilting his head up toward the ceiling and closing his eyes. 

He might’ve fallen asleep there were it not for the soft weight that pressed against him minutes later. He’d been too tired to be properly shocked when he looked around and found Keith slumped against his side, face slack and his book sagging in his hands. Shiro had gently tugged the book from his grasp, careful not to disturb him, and sat it on the coffee table before returning a sleepy gaze to his roommate. There were dark smudges under the man’s eyes and his hair was a disheveled mess--as per usual--but his expression was serene in a way it never was when he was awake and alert. With a smile Shiro had gently slipped his prosthesis around Keith’s slim shoulders, moving his hand up and down Keith’s arm in gentle strokes.

He’d been well on his way to sleep at that point and stirred only when the body at his side did. Unsure how Keith would take to waking up curled into Shiro’s side, the man had held his breath, waiting for him to leap up with a yelp. However, all Keith did was mumble something and press closer, nuzzling Shiro’s chest like a drowsy cat, and then he was asleep again. Shiro’s heart had swelled unimaginably at that, and it was in that moment that he realized something.

He was definitely, absolutely screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep a-goin, I'm uploading everything left in one go


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's long as fuck. There really was no good place to split it, so here we are

The next time it happened, the world fell away.

Fall term finals were hell. Absolute and utter hellish betrayal by the American education system. Shiro hadn’t slept for more than a couple hours at a time in days, had more caffeine in his body than blood and only remembered to eat because his grumpier-than-usual roomie would quite literally throw granola bars and toast at his head. His bed belonged to his textbooks and he had spent a good forty-five minutes tearing his hair out over the conclusion of a satirical essay for his Writing 122 class. He’d taken one exam already but had two more on Thursday, the first of which was at eight in the morning, two hours before he ever even had  _ lecture _ on normal class days.

Keith seemed to be in a similar state, though his suffering was quieter than Shiro’s prolonged screams into pillows. The man barely left his room unless he had class, he hadn’t touched anything in the kitchen except for the microwavable meals because  _ like hell am I dealing with cooking or cleaning right now, Takashi Shirogane _ . On occasion Shiro could hear something heavy make contact with the wall in Keith’s bedroom and assumed that he’d thrown his textbook in a fit of rage.

They were both exhausted and stressed, barely managing to refrain from snapping at each other some days and nearly passing out on top of each other on others. Dead week had broken Keith down so thoroughly that he’d passed out next to Shiro on the couch and slumped into his lap. It had taken twenty minutes for Shiro to fix the circuitry that had shorted out his brain at that, and then another fifteen to try to tactfully wake Keith up. Keith hadn’t looked at him at all for the rest of the day.

When Thursday found Shiro traipsing through the front door looking like death warmed over, it had the decency to welcome him home with the sounds of Keith in the kitchen. A weary smile crossed Shiro’s expression and he clumsily kicked off his shoes and tossed his bag onto the couch before shuffling after the smell of food. Keith was at the stove again at long last, hair tied back as he fiddled with the heat. On the counter next to him was what looked like breaded pork cutlets.

“‘M home,” Shiro mumbled.

“I heard the door,” Keith said, glancing over his shoulder.

He paused and let out a low whistle.

“You look like death,” he stated.

“Feel like it, too.”

Keith nodded toward the dining table and Shiro obediently collapsed in one of the chairs to melt across the scratched wooden surface. At that Keith chuckled, then turned back to the counter.

“Whatever you’re cooking, it smells amazing,” Shiro informed him.

“Thanks,” Keith said. “Hunk sent me a recipe for curry. Since I figured you’d be a walking corpse, I thought it’d be a good time to get back to real food.”

“Ramen’s real food,” Shiro said, but his heart wasn’t in the argument.

Keith snorted but didn’t comment and they lapsed into comfortable silence. Shiro hummed to himself as he watched Keith work, but he didn’t realize he was staring quite so blatantly until Keith turned toward him, a question in his eyes.

“S-sorry, what was that?” Shiro yelped, jolting upright. Keith gave him a bemused look.

“That’s all the answer I need,” he said, lips twitching. “I asked how you thought your exams went.”

If Shiro’s face grew any warmer, he’d need to stick his head in the fridge.

“Oh. Fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Keith smirked. “Food’s almost ready. Think you could get the plates?”

“Mm...I guess.”

With a groan, Shiro pushed himself back to his feet.

The next time it happened, it was a stinging, burning pain that flared in his left forearm. Shiro hissed and clapped a hand to the affected area. The shout that shot through the kitchen like a cannon was, however, not his.

“Son of a bitch!” Keith snarled, leaping back from the stove.

Shiro turned slowly, his heart thudding against his ribs, to find Keith examining his left arm with a look of irritation. The man shifted his glower to the lit stove, but Shiro’s gaze was still fixed on the burn. Thin, maybe a few inches long, and a very angry red. It looked like it had come from the grate over the burner, though how Keith had managed to brush against it was a mystery. Slowly Shiro looked down at his own arm. Uncurled his fingers one by one.

Thin. A few inches long. Very angry red.

“‘S what I get for not paying attention,” Keith grumbled. He glanced over at Shiro. “Hey, I’m fine, so why’re you…”

His voice trailed off when he followed Shiro’s gaze. Shiro knew the exact moment he understood by the abrupt tightening of his shoulders, but where Shiro might have expected excitement he found instead alarm. Instead of shock or--more optimistically--joy, there was pain. Concern had him stepping forward and he watched, stomach twisting, as Keith stumbled back. 

Why?

A chill ran down Shiro’s spine. Suddenly he was eight years old again, looking down at a collage of purple and yellow on his skin. He was twelve, and the physician was telling him that the bruising looked like it came from a broken rib, but his bones were all in perfect condition. He was fourteen and he couldn’t breathe, choking from nothing alone in his bedroom. He was sixteen and being cleaved in half in the driver’s seat of his car seconds before he crashed. He was seventeen and talking to a kid in the locker room that looked at him like he was a wild bear. And now he was nineteen, and that same kid looked like he was wishing a bear would take his place.

Keith’s fingers shook as he turned the stove off. His eyes were wide, his skin the color of old ash, and Shiro thought in that instant that he had never seen a person look more afraid.

_ Someone out there gets hurt every time you do. Someone you don’t even know. That sucks, Shiro. That really, seriously sucks. _

“Keith…” he croaked, and the man across from him flinched.

A pain grasped Shiro’s heart, one he hadn’t felt in years, and without thinking about it he stepped forward, hand outstretched. The stillness broke.

It was only Shiro’s excellent reflexes that stopped Keith from bolting right out of the kitchen, out of the apartment. The instant the boy lunged for the doorway Shiro was there, hand grasping Keith’s wrist and trying to tug him around as gently as he could. Shiro’s heart broke when Keith cringed from his touch, trying to jerk free with the kind of desperation Shiro could only reconcile with a wounded animal.

“Keith,” he said. “Keith, wait, please.”

“Let go of me!” Keith snarled, twisting and smacking his free hand against Shiro’s chest.

Shiro caught that wrist as well and for a brief instant Keith met his gaze, pupils huge in eyes more violet than blue. Then he was ducking his head so his bangs hid his eyes and struggling to break free with enough force that Shiro actually had to stumble after him. 

“Stop it!” Keith shouted. “Just--just let me go! I don’t--fuck, I don’t need this, I don’t want--”

He was crying. Sobbing. He tried to step back again but stumbled, sending them both crashing to the floor. He landed hard on his knees, Keith’s legs kicking out on either side of his hips. And still he fought Shiro, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was shaking, tears streaming down his ashen cheeks, and all Shiro could think was that he’d been a fool. An absolute fool.

“Keith, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Shiro said, and to his own ears it sounded like he was pleading. “Please just wait, don’t--don’t leave.”

“ _ Why _ ?”

All of Keith’s fight seemed to rush out of him with that one word. He stopped trying to pull away, to get his knee into Shiro’s ribs or his foot in Shiro’s stomach. He just sat there, listless, with Shiro holding his hands up and away from them and his head hanging low. A beaten dog with nowhere to hide but his own heart.

All that anger. All that practice making himself smaller. All those sleepless nights and the jumping at sudden noises. The hesitancy to even take Shiro’s hand.

Shiro pulled Keith to him without a second thought, folding around his shaking frame. Keith gasped at the action but didn’t do more than curl his fingers in the front of Shiro’s shirt, and then he was crying and cursing all over again, burying his face in Shiro’s shoulder.

Meanwhile Shiro was fighting back his own tears, cradling the back of Keith’s head with one hand and stroking the other up and down his spine.

“I’m sorry,” Keith choked. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m--”

“Sh...Keith, stop,” Shiro murmured past the ache in his throat. “Don’t, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

A broken sob was Keith’s only answer. Humming softly, Shiro pulled Keith onto his thighs, still stroking his back softly as he cried, and leaned his cheek against Keith’s crown. Eventually the trembling of Keith’s shoulders began to ease and his breathing started to steady, and reluctantly Shiro leaned back to released Keith from the impromptu embrace.

The man was a wreck. His eyes were red and puffy, cheeks damp and ruddy, hair sticking to tear tracks. He wouldn’t look at Shiro when he scrambled out of his lap.

“We should talk,” Shiro suggested softly. 

Keith’s shoulders curved inward, but he nodded once and allowed Shiro to pull him to his feet toward the couch. He sat on the far end, back against the arm and his knees tucked to his chest, and stared at his own bare feet. He winced when Shiro sat next to him, but he was careful not to touch.

“Keith?” Shiro said. The man jumped.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s fine.”

Keith took a long, shuddering breath, and spoke to his toes.

“My dad died when I was five. Car crash,” he started. “I don’t really remember him all that well, but I’m pretty sure we were happy before. My mom...she did her best. Providing for a kid was rough while she was still...grieving, but we did okay.”

He took another deep breath.

“When I was eight, she started dating this guy from her work. I didn’t like him; he just seemed weird. Still, I hadn’t seen my mom that happy in a long time, so I didn’t say anything until she took me to some work party and I saw him making out with some other woman. I didn’t tell my mom, but I did yell at him.

“He didn’t do anything until after he took me and my mom home. He told her he’d put me to bed so she didn’t have to worry about it. He closed the door behind us and then pushed me to the ground. Kicked me. Made me swear I wouldn’t tell my mom.”

Keith paused and pushed a hand through his hair. His eyes flicked to the coffee table while a muscle in his jaw jumped. Shiro’s side tingled.

“He moved in with us a little after. I saw him with other women a lot, and...well, he was persuasive to an eight-year-old. My mom figured out what was happening, though, and she lost it. Went off on him, told him he’d never be welcome in our house again, he was lucky she didn’t call the cops. He yelled a lot too, nothing important, and stormed out all high and mighty. A few days later he showed up at work and--he had a gun. I don’t know how many people died, just that my mom was one of them. Then he shot himself in the head.”

The blunt admission felt like a physical blow to Shiro, who reached a hand out automatically. Keith glanced at the movement and shook his head.

“Keith, you don’t have to--”

“I do. I do have to,” Keith growled. “You deserve to know what I made you feel.”

Shiro pressed his lips together and allowed Keith to press on.

“I ended up in the foster care system after that. There was a pretty nice old couple that fostered me for a while when I was ten, but the man got really sick and they couldn’t afford his treatment  _ and  _ a third person in the house, so I went back. A guy picked me up about a year after that. He lived alone, but he had a girlfriend that he went out with a lot. I was with them for almost two years, but the agency took me back when they found out that the woman the man paid to babysit me had lost two kids to child services. I remember the first time she hit me; it was a crowbar. Broke one of my ribs. She told them that I tripped and fell down the stairs.”

“What the hell…?” Shiro rasped even as he pressed a hand to his own chest. Imagining he could still feel the pain that had faded by the next day.

He really, truly thought he might be sick just at the thought. How could adults take in a child, a smaller version of themselves that was supposed to be able to trust them, and just...not care? How could a person knowingly, willingly cause so much pain for anyone, especially a kid?

Keith spared him a pitying look before continuing.

“After that I started going through a lot of temporary homes. Most of ‘em weren’t bad--crowded, but decent--but some of them had no business fostering kids. The system’s screening is absolute shit.

“At that point, I...I thought it was normal,” he confessed, and his voice wavered. “I didn’t know what else to think. Why else so many people were like that. I hated it. Still fought back. But I never told anyone because I assumed it wouldn’t make any difference. When I started high school a man chose to foster me. He was a single dad, he said, dealing with his daughter going off to college. Everyone figured I’d be enough of a handful to keep him from dealing with empty nest syndrome, so nobody argued. He…”

Shiro bit the inside of his cheek. The look on Keith’s face made his entire body ache with the need to wipe it clean. He looked positively sick. Haunted. After a lengthy pause Keith took a deep breath and shook his head.

“I won’t tell you what he did,” Keith said tightly. “You can probably guess.”

“When...when did he…?” Shiro murmured, but the words stuck in his throat.

“I’m gonna guess the night you crashed,” Keith said, voice rough. “You said you were sixteen, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Happened in the spring?”

“Yeah.”

“So that arm’s my fault, too.”

Cold acceptance. It twisted Keith’s tone and fell like a mask over his face

“Keith,” Shiro said, voice hard. The man glanced up, eyes widening at the expression on Shiro’s face. “None of this,  _ nothing _ , was ever your fault. Not what happened, and sure as hell not what I felt.”

“That doesn’t magically make it better,” Keith snapped, then winced. “S-sorry, I--I just...I never planned on telling you.”

That hurt a little, Shiro couldn’t deny it. That Keith would rather keep all of that to himself instead of trusting Shiro with it. But he understood, to an extent. Keith was a proud man. He didn’t like being looked down on and he didn’t appreciate pity, and he probably expected both from a guy like Shiro.

But he looked so...shattered. Curled in on himself, pressed as far into the couch as he could manage and looking smaller than should have been possible. And all Shiro wanted to do was stop that, to stoke those dying embers back into the bright and raging fire that he knew Keith was. It felt like a lifetime ago that Shiro had thought he could fix his soulmate. Take what he assumed to be a sad, sickly person and love them back to health, be the one that saved them. But that wasn’t how it worked. He knew better now.

Looking at Keith, Shiro knew that this was not a broken man in need of fixing. He was angry and he was scared, and maybe he himself believed that he was less than whole, but what Shiro saw defied his expectations. He saw a man that had picked himself back up after disaster, a man that had pieced together a life and found a niche where he could be himself even after everything. He saw fire and he saw determination in the set of Keith’s jaw and his preparedness to keep that darkness within himself, away from anybody else.

And God it just made Shiro love him more.

“Keith,” Shiro murmured. “Come here.”

Keith looked at Shiro, at his spread arms and small smile, and frowned.

“You’re not...upset?” he wondered.

Shiro shook his head.

“Nothing to be upset about,” he said. He wiggled his fingers at Keith. “C’mon. It’ll be good for both of us.”

After a cagey look, Keith slowly unknotted his limbs and a silent sigh of relief escaped Shiro. The man haltingly scooted closer on the couch and, after a final moment of deliberation, he leaned in that last little bit of distance and pressed his forehead to Shiro's shoulder. Without hesitation Shiro wrapped his arms around the smaller man, leaning his cheek against his temple and shifting so that he was laying back against the arm with Keith stretched on top of him. Keith offered no protest. In fact, his hands moved to curl into Shiro’s shirt right above his heart and he let out a shaky breath.

“So,” Shiro said after a moment. “I kinda have a confession to make.”

“Right now?” Keith mumbled. Shiro chuckled and tightened his embrace.

“Seems like as good a time as any,” he said. “And this whole soulmate reveal makes it a bit simpler for me, actually.”

Keith sighed. “Go ahead, I guess.”

“Your enthusiasm is astounding,” Shiro snorted. 

His face softened as he leaned back to look at Keith, curled up against him and hiding his face. He lifted a hand from Keith’s back to card through the mane of disheveled hair at the nape of his neck and felt him shiver slightly.

“I’ve been...well, I’ve been wondering how to do this for a while,” Shiro admitted. “So please don’t think I’m saying this just because of the soulmate thing, or because I feel bad for you or anything.”

“Get on with it, Shiro,” Keith huffed.

“Alright, alright,” Shiro said, smile growing. “Keith, I’m in love with you.”

For a count of three there was silence. Keith lay immobile on Shiro’s chest and Shiro continued to slide his fingers through Keith’s hair, heart pounding something awful.

“You stopped breathing,” Keith noted. 

Shiro blinked, cheeks flaming as he automatically sucked in a huge lungful of air and realized that, yes, the ache in his chest partially subsided when he did that. Keith’s fingers tightened in his shirt, but he didn’t move. After a moment, another unsteady breath ghosted across Shiro’s collar.

“And what…” Keith whispered. “What are you...expecting from me?”

“Nothing,” Shiro said. “Not beyond what you’re willing to give. You don’t have to say it back, and if where we are now is where you want to stay then I’m more than happy with that. I just...wanted you to know. How I felt.”

“And if I said I felt the same,” Keith said, voice so soft that Shiro wouldn’t have heard it from the other end of the couch, “then what?”

There was a moment where Shiro’s breath stalled again. Then he coughed and tried to make his voice come out normally.

“Then I guess we’d need to talk about boundaries,” he croaked around the knot of hope in his throat. “About what you’re comfortable with, and what you’re not.”

Keith took a long, shuddering breath. His arms stiffened between their chests and he lifted himself onto them so that he could look down at Shiro’s face. His eyes shone and his teeth worried at his lower lip.

“And...if I...if I can’t give you some things. Things that you want. You would be okay with that?”

A gentle smile crossed Shiro’s face and he lifted his hands, which had fallen to his sides when Keith moved, to frame Keith’s face. He stroked his thumbs over his cheeks and as he watched a dusty pink flush slowly creep across his fair skin, a warm feeling unfurled in his chest. Keith was still biting his lip, but some of the anxiety in his eyes faded at Shiro’s touch.

“Absolutely,” he murmured. “I’ll be happy with whatever part of yourself you’re willing to share with me, Keith. And if you change your mind later, that’s fine too. I love being someone that you trust and I don’t want that to change. I want you to be happy.”

Keith closed his eyes and the furrow between his brows lessened.

“Then...I love you, too,” he said, and his voice was so firm that Shiro’s heart stuttered. “I love you, too. Not because of the soulmate thing.”

There was no way Shiro could have prevented the way his smile grew until it hurt, but he wouldn’t have wanted to anyway. When Keith opened his eyes again and saw Shiro, his expression fell slack, and then he was hiding in the curve of Shiro’s neck as the man chuckled and lashed his arms around his waist. He nosed at Keith’s unruly hair.

“This has been an eventful evening,” he said. Keith snorted.

“You’re the king of understatements, you know that?”

Shiro felt like his chest was going to burst, and he didn’t think he would have minded if it had. Keith was in his arms, Keith was his  _ soulmate _ , Keith was clinging to him like a koala, Keith, Keith,  _ Keith _ .  _ Love  _ didn’t do justice to what Shiro was feeling. At least, he didn’t think so.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

Keith shifted against him and let out a hiss of discomfort. Shiro let him pull back and watched as he inspected the burn on his forearm.

“We should clean that up,” Shiro realized. “Damn, I completely forgot about that.”

“Eventful evening,” Keith replied with a wry smile as he climbed to his feet. “I forgot about dinner, too. It’s definitely cold by now.”

“It’ll still be great,” Shiro assured him.

He sat up slowly, still a little unbalanced from the rapid turn of events, but when Keith made to leave for the kitchen Shiro reached out to stop him. His fingers curled in one of the belt loops of Keith’s jeans to tug him to a stop. The man raised an eyebrow at him. Suddenly Shiro’s mouth felt inexplicably dry, and it took two attempts before he managed to speak.

“Can I kiss you?” he croaked.

Keith hesitated. Something flashed across his face, there and gone too fast to identify. Then his lips curved and he was leaning down, a hand settling on Shiro’s shoulder as he tilted his head to meet Keith halfway.

It was brief and chaste. A little awkward from inexperience, and their noses bumped initially, but Keith tilted his head to compensate and then it was just sweet. A shy pressing of slightly chapped lips, and Shiro learned that Keith really was impossibly warm all over. Then it was over and Keith shuffled to the kitchen as if he hadn’t just shaken Shiro’s world to its foundation.

Shiro lifted a hand and pressed his fingers against his lips in wonder, eyes on Keith’s back.

The next time it happened, Shiro’s world came together.


	7. Epilogue

“Keith, you’re fidgeting,” Shiro said.

“I am not,” Keith said, whipping his hands away from the hem of his sweater. Shiro chuckled and reached out to link their fingers together.

“Relax, baby,” he murmured, leaning down to press their foreheads together. “They’re gonna love you.”

Keith bit his lip.

“But I--”

“Sh…” Shiro interrupted. “I promise you’ll be fine. I’ll hold your hand the entire time, alright?”

“I’m not five, Shiro,” Keith said. But his fingers tightened around Shiro’s.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” Shiro said as he swept his thumb over Keith’s knuckles. “But there’s no reason to be. You’ll see.”

“Whatever,” Keith mumbled. 

His eyes flicked up to the two-story house before them, pale blue with navy trim, and felt something inside his chest tighten. He already missed the warm interior of the car, but he couldn’t back out now. Not after they’d driven several hours on icy roads to get there, and not after he’d promised Shiro to do this. A disappointed Shiro was worse than a sad puppy.

“Ready?” Shiro prompted gently.

_ No. _

“Yeah.”

Shiro smiled, and that made it a little easier. Keith walked up the driveway and the path to the front door, Shiro’s hand solid and a little cool in his, and reminded himself to breathe. He hesitated at the doorstep, glanced over at Shiro’s encouraging smile, and lifted his hand to ring the doorbell. 

The sudden influx of noise inside was instantaneous. Someone was shouting, something heavy clattered to the floor, and Keith threw Shiro a panicked look, heart already pounding. Shiro tugged him closer and placed a reassuring kiss against his temple.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “They’re just excited. You’re safe here.”

Keith closed his eyes; forced himself to take a deep, steadying breath. Leaned away from Shiro again with his jaw set.

A moment later the door flew open and Keith was met with a burst of warm air and the smell of cinnamon. A woman stood in front of him, a woman that looked so like Shiro that it left Keith feeling off-balance when she smiled at him. She was taller than Keith, with long dark hair braided over one shoulder and the same gunmetal grey eyes that looked like they could stare right through you.

“You must be Keith!” she said, reaching toward him. He was too startled to do more than squeeze Shiro’s hand before he was wrapped in a warm, strangely gentle embrace.

“Y-yeah,” he stammered when she released him.

The woman turned to Shiro and set her hands on her hips.

“Well?” she demanded. “Are you just gonna make him stand out here in the cold all night?”

“H-hey,” Shiro protested. “You’re blocking the doorway, Satsuki, don’t blame  _ me _ !”

The woman, Satsuki, rolled her eyes. Then she turned back to Keith with a ready smile and held out her hand. Keith took it cautiously and she towed him over the threshold, Shiro only a second behind. Keith didn’t have time to do more than tighten his hand on Shiro’s before he found himself surrounded.

“Oh, such a handsome boy!” crooned an older woman, salt and pepper hair tied in a knot atop her head.

She reached up and took Keith’s face between gently lined hands, and her expression was so gentle that it caused something to stick in the back of Keith’s throat. She smiled too warmly and guided him to lean down, pressing her lips to each of his cheeks in turn and then his forehead. When she allowed him to straighten up, her place was taken by a powerful man barely touched by age. There was a severe look to the buzz of his dark hair and the hard line of his jaw, but Keith thought he saw a hint of Shiro’s warmth in the man’s dark brown eyes. The man smiled and pulled Keith into a tight hug, and damned if that look in his eyes when he pulled back didn’t bleed pride that made Keith’s eyes sting. 

The man, too, released Keith, and Satsuki was back and pulling him into another hug, this one so much tighter than the one on the doorstep, and Keith felt himself break. Just a little bit, just a little bit overwhelmed by the hands and the arms and the smiles of people he had never met, not in this context, and yet seemed so insurmountably happy to see him in their home.

The first tears fell without his permission onto Satsuki’s shoulder. Then more followed, and she hugged him more tightly still, and then there was another set of arms, and another, and he was so completely enveloped in warmth that he thought he might go up in flames. There was no way he’d rather go, though, than surrounded by people who had cared for him before they even knew him. People that had worried for him and wanted to protect him when all they knew him by were bruises on their own son.

They let him cry. They didn’t ask him questions yet and they didn’t give him The Talk about their son. There would be time for that later, when they weren’t all crying--because Keith knew those tears against his neck were not his own--and Keith wasn’t feeling quite so overwhelmed.

The hold on Keith’s hand was strong and warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment, reading your reviews makes my day! And feel free to come say hi on tumblr: http://echoresonance.tumblr.com


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